


abandon thought

by StrangeHormones



Category: 28 Days Later (2002)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Creampie, F/M, Implied dubcon, Smut, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: major henry west x reader|  i have come here, hardly knowing the reason why, in my mind i’ve already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent
Relationships: henry west/reader
Kudos: 4





	abandon thought

Women were the answer to infection. The 5 of them who had walked through the estate’s doors seemed to have realized that long before they’d even gotten here. In fact, it’s you, their democratically elected leader who asks to see him after dinner that first night. The rest of the girls huddled close outside for an evening cigarette while you both sipped brandy in his office. You looked him dead in the eye, staring him down in a way that makes him ache for you in ways a man of his stature shouldn’t and said those words he’d never forget.

“Even wombs come with a price, Major.”

They’re given the night and another day to discuss among themselves which of his men they’ll pick. Occasionally he hears you threaten them with a rota and it all calms down. Until you’d arrived at this moment. Seven men staring down five women in the lavish foyer of an abandoned mansion. It was almost poetic in its darkness. And while the four other women circled the men briefly, considering them as if they were show dogs your eyes did not stray from his. Not until it was time to choose. 

Vikki chooses first. An amazonian woman who’s flesh rivaled the color of night stepped towards Mitchell with a spark of defiance in her eyes that made him scoff. Her only response is to raise her brows and cross her arms, standing beside. His eyes never quite leaving her, always peeking out the corner. It’s clear there’s far more than feelings at work here but they still are. Because next comes Lauren. A quiet, shy girl that blushes when you wrap your arm around her shoulder and lead her towards Clifton. Leaning in to whisper something no one else caught but made her bury her face in his side when the Private wrapped his arm around her. Maria saunters forward without ever having to be told, honing on Jones who was defenseless against her golden skin and Portuguese laden English. In fact, he does a wonderful impression of Lauren by the time she’s at his side. Diane moves towards Bedford, leaving you with two options.

Henry knows you’ll choose neither of them when he realizes those eyes have been back on him the whole time, “Well?” raising a brow.

“You,” it’s hard, poignant.

It’s a demand, not a question, “I’m not an option, darling,” keeping his face hard and unreadable, trying not to show one drop of what that single syllable had done to him, “I’m sure we could talk one of the others into switching if you like,” earning a series of unhappy reactions from both the men and women for a variety of reasons.

You shook your head, “Don’t want any of them. If I’m given a choice, I choose you.”

The air was heavy with tension, it weighed heavily on everyone’s shoulders. Not a single onlooker distracted when he stepped forward. Staring you down. You don’t flinch, no matter how imposing he truly is. You will not be moved. You will not back. He’s eager to discover how far that goes.

“And if I make you choose?” quirking his brow.

You glanced behind him, gaze flitting across each of the men before returning to his, “Bell looks a lot easier to overpower, especially in the heat of the moment,” amusement plays at the edges of your features, you had known you’d emerge victorious the second you’d chosen him, “Are you willing to send him to the gallows rather than just accept the inevitable?”

His lips twisted in a smirk, “Davis, Bell, the perimeter,” they don’t like it, moving towards the door with disappointed groans, “I’m sure the rest of you have better places to be.”

It’s thunderous, the sound of 8 people hurrying up the stairs to experiences something they thought they never would again echo in the quiet house. Only when every shut door has been accounted for does the stare down end. You reach up, fingers bandages and nails jagged, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that his cheek seems to fit perfectly in your palm, and he can’t help himself. His head turns, lips pressed against the soft skin without a thought. The sensation of soft and firm makes you gasp, you can’t tear yourself away, watching the way he loses himself in the simple touch. It had been so long, too long, even before infection. Being touched by the fairer sex, no matter how innocently had seemed a lifetime away and now it was offered. Not stolen as he had expected it might be. No, it was given freely. To him. For him. You’d have murdered one of his boys before considering being with anyone else. If he had not given you what he himself desperately did too. 

Your other hand rests on the curve of his neck, you ease him slowly towards you. It should be him, The Major, taking control but he’s too lost, you’re warm and soft, you hold him so gently. Only matched by the lightest pressure of your lips finally against his. Henry can’t just stand there anymore, the feather-light touch bursting a dam he’d never admitted to the existence of deep down inside himself. 

“Say it,” he mumbles against your lips, he needs it.

You pull back, entire body trembling, “I choose you, Henry,” holding his face with both hands as you spoke with more conviction than you had your whole life.

He pulls you close, arms around your waist, hand gripping the back of your neck, feeling all of you as he devoured your mouth. It’s a mess of bumping teeth and coaxing lips but it takes everything away. He wants to take you upstairs this instant, throw you on the bed, and ravish you till the sun began to rise. Your knees twitch, ever so slightly angling forward, and he pulls away completely- reluctantly. Watching you breathe deeply as you hold yourself upright, even if you slouched a little. He still has duties, things he has to do as The Major.

“Did I-?”

“No,” he says firmly, “Go to my room,” swallowing hard as he tried to calm his breathing, “10 minutes,” placing his arms behind his back in a familiar position in hopes of calming his nerves, “I promise.”

You shiver, his eyes don’t miss a beat. All you want is to have him throw you on the floor and have you there. It’s not too far from his mind as well. But the crack in his armor has already been shown, he can’t let it happen again. Not where any one of his men could stumble upon them. Your nod is shaky, both of you switching positions with a wide birth, not trusting yourself any closer. 

You begin the climb up the stairs and he disappears towards the lawn. Only to find the two men moping. Just as he had expected. The fact you’re not there allows him to at least batter down the need. Just enough to send them scattering to their posts fearfully. It’s the fastest round he’s ever taken. Sure he’s not paying enough attention and just not quite able to care. He doesn’t hear the rest of the house. The cacophony of sounds spilling into the night air that would live in the walls forever. Banging headboards, unreadable moans, indiscernible shrieks, but it all fades knowing how close he is to feeling your heated flesh against his once more. Thinking only of you, as it had been when you stepped off that truck, whether he had wanted to admit it at that moment or not.

The fire is low when he steps into the room, you’ve found a few candles and placed them strategically around the room. He shuts the door behind him, careful to lock it as he takes in the flickering shadows and the moonlight that pours from a curtain he’d never left open. It isn’t the end of the world, there are no infected, because this feels real. Watching you lean against the window in the army issued t-shirt you’d pilfered from the room and nothing else. The starry sky behind you making you far more dream-like than he was comfortable with.

“I told them,” you spoke, turning to look at him, “That first day we heard your message. That’s why Whitney left,” only the bed separates them now, “It’s not the same anymore,” it will be the last thing that ever keeps them apart after this moment, “But I saw you and I knew, I just knew,” you step forward, till your skin feels the soft comforter, “We’re the same,” one knee placed on the edge of the bed, then the next, “I saw you and I knew, I’d do anything you asked.”

He removes his jacket slowly, watching you move towards the center of the bed. Your eyes never leaving him and the jacket falls to the floor forgotten. He rips at his laces, kicking his boots to the side with the same lack of awareness. Your teeth tug on your bottom lip, a fog of need fills your eyes. Body straight, arms limp, as if nothing else in the world mattered except each bit of him you were beginning to discover. There’s nothing else in the whole world but him in this moment. He’s on you in an instant, pushing you into the bed as he drug his shirt up and over your head. Exposing every last inch of you for him to greedily take in. Breasts rise and fall with heavy breath, thighs tight around his belted hips, body arching. Desperate. For him.

“Say it again,” he demands of you once more, peeling the now unnecessary cloth from his torso, “Say it again, please,” tracing the your collar bones with the tip of his tongue.

“It’s you, Henry,” you gasp, heels pushing fruitlessly at the back pockets of his trousers, “You’re mine.”

He kisses you. Hard. Deep. The fluidity such a stark contrast to how his hands clawed at his belt, his fingers seemingly incapable of opening a button and lowering a zipper. Your hands trace the tensed muscles of his harms and back. Begging for more of him with every press of your fingertips, every tense of your limbs. Pressing yourself so close he barely has to jut his hips to slide himself inside of you. You shriek at the sudden intrusion, unprepared for his size, and enjoying the bite of pain it caused. You’re so warm, so tight around him. Perfect. He decided that when he was sheathed fully inside you. 

He feels like an animal, thrusting violently into you, stretching you to your limits. You scream his name, a sound of pleasure that only stokes the fire. Your nails dig into his skin, both of you sure you’ve broken skin, head thrown back as you screamed. For him. Needing him. He’d fucked women, more than his share. It had been so long and it hadn’t felt like this. This was something different. It threatens to plunge him off the cliff far earlier than he liked.

“I knew you’d be mine,” he gasps, focusing on you and the word, elbows holding his weight, your cheeks held so gently in his hands, “I knew I’d have you,” he needs your gaze, he needs your strength because he’s running out of his own, “I just didn’t think…” her muscles twitch around his cock, “Jesus Christ, darling!”

“You feel so fucking good, Henry,” lips against his, he can feel every muscle tense, hear the effort in your voice, the words snap something inside of him.

The sound of slapping skin is nothing less than obscene, your hands pressed to the wooden headboard to keep your head from going through it. He hits every place inside you, all at the same time. You’re overwhelmed, you can’t remember ever feeling anything like this before. Your body locks, gripping his cock so tight, and in the next instant, you relax entirely. All you can do is beg. For his lips, his body, his cum. It’s too much. Three harsh thrusts later and he’s holding you in a bruising grip, holding you tight against him as he found his own release. 

Henry collapses beside you, head resting on your panting, sweaty chest. Your arms wrap tightly around him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Not you,” he mumbled, eyes heavy, body truly relaxed for the first time in his entire military career, “You’re mine.”

-_-_-_-_-_-

You wake sore in all the right ways, and alone. If it weren’t for your surroundings and the pain, you might’ve thought you’d dreamt the whole affair. Being with him, being a part of him. You snuggled deeper into the blankets that smelt of him, content to spend all day there. Your growling stomach clearly had other plans. You found the abandoned shirt and a clean pair of joggers laid on the back of a chair. They were much too big, requiring folding at the leg and almost comically tightening the waist. That was the most getting ready you did, you were leaving long enough to eat breakfast and return to the sudden and yet necessary comfort of Henry’s scent. 

Lauren stood at the stove, eggs in a basket made with their rescued supplies. She wore a grin on her face, no matter how hard she tried to batter it down, and it was only rivaled by the cocky one on Vikki’s face. Not to mention the split lip and bloodied knuckles. Maria and Diane were quite unimpressed by their escapades. The men filtered in and out, quite aware of how the women quieted when they entered and stared at them until they left with full plates. The next one bringing in the plate of the last. You rinse your dish, a sign your time with the group has come to an end for now when the Major finally enters.

“My boys are quite impressed,” eyes on Lauren before realizing the room isn’t quite as empty as he believes.

He’s looking at you instantly, watching you lean against the counter with a hesitation that seems odd on your face. You don’t know the rules and you can’t bend them, not yet. Everything is still too new, too fresh. He sets his unfilled plate on the counter, striding towards with the same command he had stepping out to greet them

He holds the curve of your neck, pressing a short searing kiss to her lips. The other women cough or giggle awkwardly, all while averting their gaze. You melt, the sharp bite of the counter pressing into your back the only thing keeping you steady. Both feet firmly planted on Earth, at least for not.

“Take a long, hot bath,” his words barely a breath pressed against your ear before stepping away slowly, “Thank you so much for breakfast, Lauren. Maybe Jones will learn a thing or two from you,” taking his plate and almost hurrying from the room.

You should go right then and there but it isn’t an option. There are still things to discuss and you squeeze in a late morning doze. It’s mid-afternoon by the time you’re shoulder deep in sweet-scented bubbles. Eyes closed, thinking less and less of this morning and instead about last night. And when he materializes in the far too large washroom you hope it will be for a few stolen minutes to give an encore. His stoic face tells you what he’s really here for.

“This is going to be business, isn’t it?” your voice was heavy with disappointment that made him chuckle.

“Unfortunately,” he leaned against in the sink in a familiar fashion, even as he trained his gaze on hers he knew what awaited beneath the foam, “Diplomacy is a necessity of any society.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, “Surprising to no one Vikki is very happy to continue biting the bullet that is Mitchell. Which was honestly our main problem,” no one has to say the word for it to hang heavy in the air, he nodded, so far on the same page. You cleared your throat, face softening and there’s only one person you can be talking about, “Lauren and Clifton really got on it seems.”

“Like a house on fire, he says,” that particular fight will be his not yours.

“Diane and Maria,” a sad smile and shake of your head is more than enough information, “Time is their friend. I suggest your boys learn the virtue of patience.”

“You are all quite blunt and oddly accommodating,” giving you a look that more urges you to explain than is truly questioning.

“It was talked about,” you answered, it was something to be prepared for. A group of women in a lawless and very violent world, “Life is a commodity in this world we live in now. We make life.”

“You are not a commodity,” the Major is gone, replaced by Henry who demands she knows this, “Not you.”

You try not to grin too widely, this reaction from men is new to you, “Then what am I?” and you enjoy it far too much.

“Mine,” he answered simply, standing on his feet and making his way out of the bathroom without another word.

“You’re mine.”

-_-_-_-_-_-

You attend supper, taking your new place at Mitchell’s right side. Dressed in flowing white and bouncing tulle. The others line the table alongside her, each having taken care of their appearances in one form or another. Even Lauren’s hair has been brushed back, at least enough to shoot smiles down the table and play footsie, for lack of a better term, like no one notices. It’s oddly reminiscent of before in all the right ways and for tonight he lets it slide. Mitchell is much less subtle and he does not receive the same leniency with threats of desperate quarters and a sturdy lock. Jones serves dinner but it’s clear he has done little of the work.

Lauren has managed to pull together a feast he wouldn’t have realized had been mostly tinned and powdered if he hadn’t seen the supplies for himself. With equal enthusiasm they all dig in, even the powdered red sports drink tastes better somehow. By the end, the two who’d managed to stay paired off are eager for the announcement and the others wait with bated breath.

“Maria and Diane will take as much time as they need to recuperate,” there something about the authority in his tone that sends a shiver down your spine and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, “Mitchell, Clifton, congratulations.”

There’s a roar of celebration and then groans of unhappiness when the realization of what it meant sunk in. He looked at you, this would be your contribution. If you were going to be his there would be responsibilities.

“The bigger our group, the more people that will come. Everything seems tedious at the start, and that’s right where we are, it’s all about time,” doing your best to keep your voice optimistic and a smile on your face, “Look how far patience has already gotten you.”

You have no way of knowing that’s true but that’s the price of knowledge, isn’t it? A secret you’ll share, no doubt among many others. But there are cheers all around and a shot each of low shelf vodka Diane had found tucked under some floorboards. It all feels normal, watching the two couples break off to go upstairs, the other two women to their shared room, and the rest of the men returned to normal nightly duties. A well-oiled machine that seemed to continue moving no matter how hard the world seemed to be trying to stop it.

“I can only imagine you in the wild,” he laughed, chin on your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your cinched waist, “Imagine I’ll see it one day.”

“If you’re lucky,” turning in his arms to run her hands up them, still unable to stop yourself from admiring himself in his military Sunday best, “In the meantime, I could use a drink.”

This time is very different from the last. He grabs the decanter and glasses from the study but you never step foot in it. Instead, you make your way up to, what is now, your shared room. Once inside, he pours the drinks and watches you go about setting the lighting. Moving candles about and plucking at curtains until it was all just right. It truly is worth the effort and it gives him time to not only pour the drinks but calm his nerves. Last night had been needy and far too quick with an almost insulting lack of seduction he was almost offended on your behalf. Tonight would have to be different.

You accepted the outstretch glass as soon as you could reach it, taking a sip more for comfort than taste, “You’d think this wouldn’t be so strange.”

He smiled cheekily, taking a gulp of his drink before setting it down to remove his jacket, “We didn’t exactly talk much,” sitting on the edge of the bed, setting the bottle on the nightstand before patting the mattress beside him.

You took the offered seat, smiling in a way that bordered on shy, “I don’t think either of us were particularly interested in talking.”

“At least not in that way,” he shot back quickly with a cheeky wink that made your cheeks heat up, and taking a sip of brandy did nothing to help, “How did you know?”

It’s an honest question and it deserves an equally honest answer, “How did I know…” taking the last gulp from your cup and setting it next to the decanter, “I saw the way you looked at me.”

“And how did I look at you” he leans over you to abandon his glass as well, the closeness making you bite your lower lip, “What are you so worried about, darling?” mistaking your efforts of self-control for nervousness.

“You looked at me like…” it comes out far breathier than you expected and you can’t stop from swallowing hard when you feel his hand against your exposed back, “Like you’d bleed the world dry before you let me leave,” moving up your spine till he held the back of your neck in the crook of his hand, “Would you?”

He uses his hold to force your eyes to his, “I would,” it seems more instinct than logical thought that has you climbing into his lap, the massive skirt hiding everything below the mattress from view, “Anything, anyone,” your body shivers, his fingers move along the back of your thigh, “I thought we were talking.”

“We are,” you counter, curling your fingers in the hem of his undershirt, “We’re talking about how I knew you’d be mine.”

“You make it sound like you’re not mine,” releasing his grip long enough to let you pull the fabric over his head and toss it away, running the tip of his nose along the curve of your jaw, “Aren’t you?”

“We’ll find out,” knowing that you had to be completely honest with him, he would figure out anything less, “It’s easy now. When all we want to do is rip each other’s clothes off,” palms pressed flat against his chest, feeling his heart speed up, “But it won’t always be. For me, for my girls,” he squeezes your neck lightly and plucks open the hooks at your waist, “What about when I piss you off?” using a cheeky grin and falling into the sensation of his fingertips against the small of your back to batter down the reality of the question.

“I imagine I’ll just have to spank you,” his teeth nipping softly at your cheek, his hand dipping beneath the gap to caress the curve of your behind.

“I might like that,” he finally undoes the knot at the back of your neck, pinkies dragging the loops until they finally came apart and began to fall.

Your fingers twirl in the ribbons, pulling it till the entire upper half of your dress pooled in your lap, “Cheeky,” he chuckles.

You don’t get the chance for a retort that matches the call out. He’s kissing you. It’s different from the night before. It’s different from any other time before. So soft and gentle that for a moment you wonder if you’re imagining it. Your hands move over his chest, the corded muscles of his shoulders. He inhales deeply through his nose, forcing you so close it was hard to know where you ended and he began. Which heartbeat belonged to who. His lips drag along your skin, hands traveling aimlessly across your flesh and setting your nerves alight. He moves quickly. Your back pressed into the plush blankets, his journey continues down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. His hands catch the dress, dragging it down to expose more flesh for his tenderness to explore. Over your stomach, your hip- where his thumbs caught the band of your knickers-, the curve of your thigh, your tensed calf. Until you lay there in nothing but your heels. 

You’re young and beautiful. Intelligent. He hadn’t thought about the kind of woman he would take as his own consort but someone like you had never crossed his mind. One foot on the floor, the other on the bed, he rested your ankle on his bent knee. Undoing the small buckle before dropping it to the ground with a thud and doing the same with your other heel. He lifts your ankle higher until it’s resting on his shoulder and lips press just below your knee. His foot slips to the floor as he leans forward. Higher and higher until he’s placing a firm kiss against your twitching quim. 

“No one,” you gasp, needy and embarrassed, face warm with the twisting emotions. So different from the confident woman he’s come to find over the last couple days, “No one’s ever…”

He raised an eyebrow, it isn’t hard to figure out what you’re saying. He can’t imagine anyone not wanting to taste you but there’s something that comes with knowing he’ll be the only one. It makes you his. And he watches the realization of that fact dawn on your face before he dips his tongue between your nether lips. 

“Jesus Christ!” your hips rose and he wrapped his arm around your thighs, yanking you back against the bed, “Fuck…” your curled toes run along his back when he swirls his tongue around that bundle of nerves that make stars explode in front of your eyes.

It’s like he’s a man without water, wandering the desert for days. Blunt fingernails digging into the sensitive skin of your thighs until you’re sure it might break. You don’t care. Your upper body thrashing against the onslaught as noises you didn’t know you were capable of were drug from you over and over again. It’s a completely different feeling, coming undone in this way. Your body desperate to clamp around something and finding nothing there, the way he over-stimulates your clit is what sends you over the edge. Almost seizing as your vision blurred at the edges, you can’t hear anything but your heartbeat and rushing blood. It reminds you so much of survival, where it’s just you and your own heartbeat. Until the world slams back against you full force and you come back with a gasp.

“You alright there, luvie?” he asks, rubbing his cheek along your inner thigh with the smuggest smirk you’ve ever witnessed.

You nodded, taking your time in catching your breath before answering with your voice, “Do that again, Henry.”

He chuckled, a sound of mirth that you hadn’t heard since this all started and he nodded. The tip of his tongue darting over your swollen lips, “Say your mine,” dipping between your folds and pulling back.

You squeaked, desperate for him as well as not letting go of that one last string of self-control. The one that had snapped in that same moment he had. You just hadn’t been ready to admit it. To give him that power.

“I’m yours.”

He already had it.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback and kudos is always appreciated
> 
> youtastelikesugar.tumblr.com


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